


you fall, we rise

by quqin



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Drift Partners, Hurt/Comfort, Idk what i'm doing, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27603175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quqin/pseuds/quqin
Summary: Technoblade once fell, alone.But now, he has Dream to rise with him again by his side.In the Drift. In the universe.Together.(or, Technoblade was a part of one of the strongest pilot duos before, kaiju blood staining his and Philza’s names. But now, he thinks, with Dream by his side, they’re more.They’re invincible.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Dave | Technoblade, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 77
Kudos: 463





	you fall, we rise

**Author's Note:**

> *breakdances* heyo it’s me again and i’m back with the pacific rim au that nobody asked for or cares about but one that i still wrote for and over fixated on anyways bc i'm a fool and a clown
> 
> This is genuinely the longest thing i have ever written???? I come back from a 15 month writing hiatus where my previous high score was like 2.5k words and i just,,,,pull this shit,,,,
> 
> Anyways some stuff to note: 
> 
> 1\. Important disclaimer that i am only shipping their personas, not the real people!! If the CCs ever mention explicitly that they are uncomfortable with this kind of stuff, I will immediately take this down. Please don’t shove this onto them or show it to them either!! 
> 
> 2\. It’s a pacific rim au so there might be some stuff that you don’t know if you haven’t watched the (first) movie, but I’ll be explaining the basic and most important stuff briefly and badly:
> 
> \- Kaiju = fatass chonky monsters. Bad. eat people. Chaos incarnate. Comes from the sea.  
> \- Jaegers = bigass metal robot thingos that two people control from the inside, equipped with weapons and piloted by two people two kill Kaiju  
> \- Shatterdome = kinda like an army base tbh, massive building where rangers and cadets live, Jaegers deployed from here  
> \- Drift partners = two people who have an innate compatibility with each other and therefore are able to “drift”, compatibility is usually tested through sparring. Together, they pilot a Jaeger.  
> \- Drifting = you get shoved into a system with your drift partner and need to keep thoughts clear. Once calibrated, your minds get linked up and your thoughts become synchronised to literally be able to hear and talk to each other through your head. This allows you to act as one and control the movement of the Jaeger itself, one pilot controlling the “right hemisphere” and the other the “left hemisphere” More information can be found at this link https://pacificrim.fandom.com/wiki/Drift c:  
> \- Chasing the rabbit = when you fixate on one memory during the initiation of the Drift during which you recount all of your memories and see your partner’s memories. The emotions from the memory typically translate into actions for the Jaeger depending on the hemisphere the pilot is calibrated to.  
> \- Solo-piloting = when someone pilots a jaeger alone. jaegers are designed to be piloted by two or three people because the neural stress it places on one person is too great, and so it gets shared between two people to equilibrate the pressure. However, if one pilot is suddenly not able to pilot in the middle of a mission (e.g. because they die), the amount of pressure the other pilot gets placed under is four times the original, and if they solo-pilot for too long, they will suffer permanent neural scarring.  
> \- Dominant pilot/co-pilot = the dominant pilot is the ranger who pilots on the right sie of the Jager, the co-pilot’s the one on the left. 
> 
> There is more specific terminology that I have used such as “I-19 Plasmacaster” or “PONS” which isn’t too important (and the context around it explains what it does) but yeah, the movie is very pog and the concept of drift partners is even more pog. 
> 
> 3\. For those who remember the weaponry of each Jaeger from the movies bc ur a fucking geek like me, you’ll notice that Striker Eureka (the jaeger that Techno and Dream pilots) will have more functions than it’s supposed to: it has the plasma cannon and the blade from Gipsy Danger. It’s because I originally wrote Dream + techno as the pilots of Gipsy Danger, but then I remembered the controversy behind the name, and I didn’t want to offend anyone by accident, so I decided to switch their Jaegers and fuse the original weaponry with Striker Eureka’s. So yeah. Buff Jaeger. 
> 
> Also, I just wanted to say a massive thank you for all the support on my previous fic too!! I’ve never really had the guts to publish my writing, and to be acknowledged for it by people I didn’t know was surprising and new for me. I hope you know that I smiled so widely whenever I saw a comment and really, really appreciate every single bit of support.
> 
> Anyways, super sorry for the long tangent I went on, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (p.s. The vibes for dnb this fic are the songs “Shelter” by Porter Robinson & Madeon, “Well (우물)” by SoNakByul, “Just me and you” by Taemin, “Island” by Youha, and “Asteroid” by Imlay ft. YangYang)

They were one of the strongest duos in the pacific, until they weren’t. 

The names of Technoblade and Philza instigated awe and respect into the hearts of almost every pilot across the pacific rim - their names were coated with the sickly cyan blood of the hundreds of Kaiju they had successfully slain, and their reputation shone with honour. 

Striker Eureka was a menace of slate gray, its pilots every bit as lethal as the Jaeger itself - they’d make fools like you think that they bear the warmth of a spring breeze and the bitter maple of autumn, when in fact they are all teeth and fury, ripping you from your throne to drag your kingdom down. Technoblade and Philza were powerful, unbeatable, and terrifying in the way they strike like a tsunami - terrible, sudden, and devastating. For a lack of better words, they were strong, and incredibly so. 

And then, a mission goes wrong. 

They get alerted of a level four kaiju prowling through the oceans just off the coast of Greece, and whilst Kaijus above level three were difficult to dispose of and deal with, it was nothing that Techno and Philza hadn’t managed before. They get deployed, and before they leave, he sees Philza give Tommy’s hair a ruffle, smiling at the young boy who was still in training, having established a relationship nothing short of familial with the young cadet. “I’ll be back,” the ranger said while Techno watched. Beside him, Wilbur rested a hand on his shoulder, patting it twice before wordlessly leaving. 

He hears the shout of Tommy before they enter Striker Eureka, “Stay safe, big man! Kick those Kaiju asses!” 

They drift. 

\---

They don’t stay safe, and Philza doesn’t come back. 

Technoblade grits his teeth as he lets out a growl, shoving the Kaiju back and re-activating the GD6 Chain Swords, steel-obsidian alloy already crusted with Kaiju Blue from the previous monster they had killed. Next to him, Philza breathes heavily while ignoring the blood trickling into his eyes as the two let out a yell and rammed the blade into the beast’s side, luminescent cyan liquid splattering through the air in a gruesome arc before the thick solution fell into the murky waters of the sea. They fight, but with laboured movements and even more laboured breaths as they force themselves on. 

They had received the wrong information. The level four Kaiju they had previously slain laid at the bottom of the sea, corpse limp, yet out of nowhere, a level three monster had risen from the turbulent waters, and Technoblade tries to think of everything he can do to survive. He doesn’t know how much longer they can last after most of their strength and energy had been placed on dealing with the previous larger monster, and he can feel his muscles burning in pain. He cannot stop though, or he will die. 

The blade was not enough, they needed more. 

Technoblade makes a mistake. 

“Activate I-19 Plasmacaster!” he barks, and brings Striker Eureka’s heavy arm back to initiate the particle dispersal cannon, the charged carrier rail whirring as neon turquoise light begins to spill, plasma generating from the system. He does not realise the proximity of the Kaiju. 

A heavy tail smashes into the exposed front of the blue Jaeger, and its pilots let out a shout as they’re sent flying through the air, crashing down into the unforgiving sea in a tempest of uprising water. The pink-haired pilot tries to stand up, ignoring the metallic taste of blood he could feel bubbling in the back of his throat, yet it felt like the fibres of his body had expanded to become thick and sluggish like molasses - weary and dragging him down. He’s in pain, every single neuron in his body lighting up like a bonfire to cry their pleas at him to stop, but he _can’t_. They can’t. 

Both Philza and he knew well enough that the moment they stopped, that they would die. 

“Techno, what do we do?” came his drift partner’s voice, and he thinks that for the first time, he can detect a quiver in it, “The rear jets aren’t enough to get us away. One of the 10KT/Gyro Stabilizers is broken. We can’t keep this up for much longer.” 

He wants to live. He tries to see a way to live, but he knows that Philza is experiencing his thoughts, and he knows that Philza is faced with no solution from the dominant pilot. There’s a stifling silence in the cabin, filled only with their heavy breathing and the whirring of machines, before Techno finds something to say. 

“Then we go down with the ugly fucker.” 

He didn’t need to vocalise it - Philza was literally _inside_ of his head, but he let the words rest heavy in the pod anyways. 

He doesn’t notice how eerily still everything is outside, as if even the whipping winds and the gods of the seas were intimidated by- 

Technoblade is thrown backwards when claws gripped tightly onto the metal of Striker Eureka, and then his face is hit by the salt of the sea and the wrath of the wind god. 

“Techno! It’s gotten through the hull! We need to-” 

A shriek is heard from his left, almost drowned out by the tempest and the harsh grating of metal being ripped apart, as the Kaiju tears away the left side of the Jaeger. 

And with it, Phil. 

Technoblade doesn’t even get to see the terror haunting the depths of Phil’s eyes or hear the desperate cry of his name, before his drift partner’s body disappears, broken and limp like a paper wren. 

**_NO-_ **

Technoblade doesn’t know when he started screaming. 

The pink-haired pilot screams a terrible wail of an anguished animal, voice raw with anger and loss as he can feel the glass in his heart shatter, gunmetal in his bones hardening. Something angry and vengeful bursts in Techno’s chest, hot and violent like a geyser, like an eruption, a jet of inconsistent, erratic power surging through his veins, and the way he bellows out the initiation of the blades awakens something dormant, animalistic, and so, so _furious_ inside of him. The force of his rage and sheer will were like tectonic plates slowly shifting into place, catastrophic yet leaving a horrifyingly, mesmerising destruction in its wake - Technoblade tears through the Kaiju’s chest as if he was slicing paper, and the Kaiju let out a pained shriek - music to his ears - before the plasma cannons are unleashing their, and Techno’s fury upon the monster. 

He doesn’t hear its howling or caterwauling, only the blood pounding in his head and rushing through his ears. He destroys, destroys, _destroys,_ and does not feel the agony of solo-piloting. He wants blood, he wants the Kaiju dead, he wants to kill. 

Technoblade doesn’t know how long it took for him to kill the monster alone. He doesn’t remember how he stumbles to land, how he falls out of the control cabin. 

He only remembers the haunting sense of emptiness inside of him before his eyes close.

\---

The coldness of the metal railing seeps through his white shirt to cool his skin. 

Techno looks down at the bustling Shatterdome, people scurrying around like ants to rush to their stations or jobs. The noise of the miniature city fades from his senses and he loses himself in a daze, unconsciously playing with his fingers as he leant his weight forwards, feeling exhaustion trickle through him. He wonders how the crisp breath of autumn would feel against his face - he doesn’t remember the last time he went out. 

Footsteps echoed behind him, but the pink-haired ranger did not turn. He knows the gait, the pace, and the weight of General Wilbur Soot’s footstep far too well. The brunette does not speak. He decides that if the chocolate-haired male won’t start, then he will. 

“What do you want,” Techno says, ire streaking through his voice, weariness heavy on his tongue. He wants to be left alone, but he seems to be wanting that constantly these days. 

“There are three people waiting for you in the sparring room,” Wilbur begins, and Technoblade does not hesitate to cut him off, “No.” He knows where this is going. 

“Technoblade, it’s been six months,” Wilbur’s voice rises, “The Kaiju are slowly on the rise again, we don’t have nearly enough pilots, much less skilled pilots, to continue like this for much longer. We need you back, and we need your experti-” 

“Shut the fuck up, Soot,” Technoblade says softly, words sharp like knives and shoulders tense. He can feel fury bubbling in the depths of his stomach again, molten lava popping as if the pink-haired male was a dormant, but very much _alive_ volcano. His lips are pursed into a straight line as he clenches the railing so tight that his knuckles turn white. 

“Technoblade, we need you. We need you as a pilot, as a fighter, as a warrior and as a defender. I know that I should not be asking this of you right now, considering it has only been six months since-” 

“Stop.” 

“-Phil-”

“I said stop.” 

Wilbur snaps. 

“Wake the _fuck_ up, Technoblade! Phil is _dead_! He’s been dead for six months already! You can’t just continue spending every day like a hollow shell of your original self-” 

“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do, Wilbur,” the pink-haired ranger snarls, finally whirling around on his heel to face the general, ruby eyes ablaze with an uncontrollable inferno, “Don’t you fucking _dare_ tell me what i can and can’t do. All you have to do is give orders, you don’t need to come face to face with those monsters, you don’t need to fight, you don’t need to do _anything_ except sit in your office and let garbage tumble from your lips.” He sees Wilbur open his mouth to fight back, but now that he has finally opened up, the words spill from him like a roaring waterfall, he cannot stop. “How do you expect me to be able to just move on _when i feel hollow every single day_? How do i fucking go back into one of those Jaegers, knowing that I might need to feel as if a half of my soul might be torn away again? How do i fucking do it?” 

He breathes raggedly, not realising that his voice had risen into a yell, and the emotions he feels coursing through his body are so overwhelming that he _laughs_ , forcing the tears back and only allowing the barest quivering of his lip to happen once. Wilbur’s face is stoney, and the ranger resists the urge to sneer. There is a stifling stillness between the two men, and Techno gives up, moving to leave.

“Do you think that dealing with Phil’s death was, and still is easy for me?” 

Wilbur’s soft voice and abrupt question paused him in his tracks. 

“We were like family, Techno. You, me, Phil, and Tommy. Do you think that it was easy for me to lose a brother, a friend, a father?” 

Techno doesn’t reply. He clenches his fist instead. 

“Yes, I don’t fight. I don’t put my life on the line and enter into the cabins of the Jaegers to go and kill Kaiju, knowing that I could die any second. I stay in the Shatterdome, I sit in my office, and I watch,” Wilbur says, “But inside the Jaeger, you have the lives of two people in your hands, Techno. Yourself, and your drift partner. In my suffocating office, I have the lives of millions of people in my hands. Even the smallest of mistakes in a decision can lead to thousands of deaths. And there are days when it feels like everything is weighing down on my shoulders and everything is dark, and I can’t fucking breathe, but I need to go on. I don’t have the time to grieve or to mourn, Techno. I cannot stop for even a minute to pay my respects to the people we have lost, do you understand how it feels? Do you understand how it feels to not be able to even give the dead heroes the proper acknowledgement they deserve?” 

Wilbur does not receive a reply. 

His shoulders slump in defeat, and he rakes a hand through tousled brown locks as he sighs, muttering a “nevermind”, and the fabric of his coat rustles as he turns to leave. He should've known better. 

“Fine.” 

Wilbur froze, disbelieving, unsure. 

“What?”

“I said _fine_ ,” Techno murmurs, “But this is the only, and last time, Soot. If none of the three match me, then I want out, and you are to leave me the fuck alone.” 

Garnet eyes meet coffee ones. 

Wilbur nodded, and left. 

Techno walked towards the sparring room, steps heavy and slow. 

\---

He takes down Fundy within 30 seconds, slamming the male’s body onto the mattress without hesitation. 

The end of his staff is pointed at Niki’s neck within 25 seconds as the girl laid on the floor, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

He is wiping the handle of the wooden staff when the third candidate steps up. He looks up to lock eyes with a golden-haired boy, emerald eyes glowing with something that reminds Techno of embers, burning gold from their bed of ashes. He can see the way the shorter’s body is lit, charged like the air before a thunderstorm, electricity crackling through his blood. 

As the male slides into his stance, Techno suddenly feels something within him begin to burn white-hot, like tin-foil let forgotten on a side-walk under the blazing sun. His gaze sweeps over the elegance of the blonde’s posture, the perfect lines that his arms and shoulders and legs draw against the flickering light in the sparring room, and he holds his staff as if he was nothing but an extension of the staff, as if the staff was made to just be an extension of his body. He spins the staff with deft fingers, and makes it look so easy, so natural. 

Techno does not think, and moves. 

Except this time, he does not fight because he is hungry for blood - he fights, because he can feel the tantalising beckoning of a delirious excitement that he just _knows_ will stem from their exchange. 

The blonde comes close enough for the taller to see the gold shining in the cracks, the sliver of sun filtering under the door of his guard, and he shines in a dangerous, lethal way. Their staffs collide, quick and so intense that it’s almost painful, sending a tingling up his arm and lighting whipping at his spine. It’s also like sunshine trickling through the woods on a cold autumn day and turning your entire world white, and he gets lost in the fluid way they danced around each other, all tantalizing, teasing touches of blade on blade, footwork like dance, elegant and graceful. 

Techno is lost in it, so deeply that he only comes to his senses when he realises the sparring has ended. The flaxen-haired male is sprawled on the ground, the end of Techno’s staff resting only a few centimetres away from his jugular. He won, narrowly, but the pink-haired ranger does not notice it as he looks down, and it’s like...it’s like riding a horse through the woods, under the shade of a tree, shielded, in the darkness, and in that single heartbeat, for a single moment, you’re in the right place for the sun to shine through the branches and blind you. The wide-eyed boy stared up at him, flecks of chrome in his chartreuse eyes glimmering with an emotion Techno couldn’t quite identify, and his hair looked as if it was spun out of cobwebs under the harsh industrial lighting. 

Technoblade would later think back to this moment, and realise that it was in this second, that the first tendrils, the earliest coils of a heat that has been waiting inside of him, had began to build up, like the last embers of a fire hidden underground, gnawing on coal to survive and only letting out smoke through the tender earth. 

He doesn’t know what it’ll be like when that fire comes to the surface. Will it be big enough to devour the lands? 

There is a quiet clapping from the sidelines that snap Technoblade out of his reveries, and Wilbur looks at him with a small smile. He looks at the brunette blankly. 

“Congratulations,” the general says, “Dream is your new drift partner. Sent over especially from the US, one of their best.” 

The world suddenly rushes back to him, and Technoblade freezes. He looks back down at the man on the floor, and a wave crashes over him. His new drift partner. His _new_ drift partner. 

He hears the haunting screams of Phil in his ears again, feels the dull ache in his chest from suddenly hearing all of Philza’s thoughts, to a hollow _nothing_. 

He needs to get out of this room. 

Without another word, he spins the staff around to throw it on the ground, grabbing his items and striding towards the exit of the sparring room. 

“Remember what you agreed to, Techno,” Wilbur calls out from behind him. 

The door slams shut. He tries to breathe. 

\---

He’s sat on his bed, eyes misty as he stares at the photos on the wall in his room, breaths coming out soft and quiet. He inhales. He exhales. He inhales. He exhales. 

There’s a knock on his door. 

It takes a few seconds for him to snap out of his daze, and a small groan falls from his lips as he gets up, making his way over to the entrance slowly. Rubbing the back of his neck, he ignores the stray strands of the long fuschia locks which fell into his face as he irritably opens the heavy metal door, ready to curse the living daylights out of Wilbur Soot that smug bastar-

The insults die on his tongue, however, when he sees the blonde haired male standing in front of him. He seems to have taken a shower not long ago, judging from the slightly darker colour of his damp hair. Dream no longer wore the short-sleeved black turtleneck he did when they were sparring, instead, a large hoodie that was a startling colour of lime envelopes his figure, hiding his sharpness and fire to mellow his edges out into something soft yet brilliant like starfire. 

“Uh…” the golden-haired boy started, saccharine honey spilling from his lips, and Technoblade does not know what to say or what to think or how to feel- “I just wanted to, um, apologise?” 

“For what?” Techno doesn’t realise he’s spoken until he sees Dream’s eyes widen in slight surprise at the fact that the ranger had even replied, and the pink-haired male can see the shorter fumbling for words. He waits. 

“For...you know, being your drift partner and all.” 

“Why are you apologising for that?” 

“I...I know it must be difficult for you to get a new drift partner so soon after....yeah.” 

Techno feels a pang of grief and pain shoot through his stomach again. The air is awkward, and tense.

“Is that all?” 

He can see Dream hesitating, see the way he nibbled on his lips in thought, see the way he played with the hem of his hoodie, see his uncertainty but also something else, something hidden and obscured, like seaweed floating underneath a muddy pond. He waits, and watches as a determined glint begins to appear in the flaxen-haired boy’s eyes, and the shorter of the two finally stands up straight to look Techno in his merlot irides. 

“No,” he says, “I also came here to tell you that I am not, I don’t want to be, I can never be, and I never will be a replacement for Philza.” 

Techno does not blink as he looks at the blonde-haired boy, and does not interrupt. He thinks that there’s something like relief curling in his stomach though. 

“I understand that it will be difficult for you to adjust, but I ask for you to trust me. We’re drift partners, and we can stay just drift partners, we can become friends, but I ask that you bear with me. I am not Philza, and I am not here to take his place. I am here to be your drift partner, for you to be my drift partner, and for us to kill Kaiju together. That is all,” he finishes. 

“Okay,” Technoblade replies simply, and it hangs in the still air as he watches the riddle, the mystery standing opposite him. Dream didn’t seem to know if there was more to follow, but judging by the ticking of time that trickled by slowly where the ranger did not say another word, the bond-haired male figures it out. 

“Okay,” Dream echoed in a breath, before he steps back, and Techno thinks that he looks almost bashful in that second, tame and like a summer dove instead of the falcon he was when fighting, when meeting Techno’s gaze with eyes of brimstone, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow.” 

There was a slight hesitation then, “Goodnight, Techno,” and Dream turned to enter his room on the opposite side of the hallway. Techno thinks that he’s like a summer storm, showing up announced to drench him to the bone, thundering and roaring and tearing the flowers from his hand and disappears as soon as he finds shelter, leaving him to deal with this unbearable heat again, alone. 

He closes his door. 

\---

There’s a comfortable and light conversation that goes on between Dream and him when they have breakfast. 

It’s late autumn now, air no longer syrupy and bearing a hint of saccharine maple like it had at the time he had argued with Wilbur two months ago, like that time he had sparred with Dream, like that time he had found his new drift partner. Instead, it whispers around them crisply, laughing and tangling its fingers in his pink locks whenever he steps outside. Through the glass on the ceiling of the Shatterdome, the watery late-autumn sun filters through to illuminate specks of copper and gold suspended in the air. 

It also illuminates Dream like paper underneath a lamplight. The blonde-haired male enjoyed sitting under the sun, basking in its warmth, and Techno eyes the way his hair curled around his forehead in a decidedly soft way, like spun silk, glowing gold in the sunlight. The sun had transformed the rest of his face too, softening it, bringing out the warmth in his skin, highlighting the gentleness of his jaw and the pretty curves of his eyes. Looking at him is a soft kind of violence, and Techno cannot identify the feeling that is stirring deep within him whenever the younger lets out a wheezing laugh at one of his sarcastic remarks, and he’s a sinner in that he doesn’t know when to just look away, how to look away.

Dream reaches over him to grab a knife, and Techno thinks that he smells different this morning, colourful, vibrant like night-blooming flowers which you were not able to see in the darkness, but could still follow their heady scent. It’s like his drift partner’s very presence could bring back time, bring back summer, gently tug back the dry, balmy heat of a summer afternoon, the bees buzzing and flowers rustling among countless ears of grain. Underneath everything else, Dream smells like something Techno is not allowed to touch, like gold, like glory, like honey. 

“Hey, you alright?” 

He snaps out of his thoughts, blinking a few times in response to the concerned look the blonde ranger throws in his direction. 

“Yeah. Just thinking of how I’ll beat your ass again in sparring today,” he says dryly, confident smirk curling up on his lips and scarlet eyes drowsy yet sharp at the same time, sunbeams dancing in the ruby depths. Dream chortles, and elbows him lightly in the side. 

“Oh come on now, I’ll totally destroy you.” 

“Dream, I don’t know how else I can break it to you, but I’m just too good.” 

He likes seeing the way the younger’s face lights up with mirth, and he likes hearing the airy chuckles that escape his drift partner, lilting and melodious. And he thinks that he likes the warm, cozy feeling he gets when it’s _his_ jokes that Dream is giggling at. 

“Hey-”   
  
“DREAM! DUCK!” there’s suddenly an ear-splitting screech from somewhere behind Techno, and on instinct, he bobs his head down, throwing himself against the table like Dream did as a whole fucking _quiche_ the size of his fist flies through the air, and splatters against the forehead of the raven-haired boy sitting opposite his drift partner. 

**_“GOGY!”_ **Sapnap bellows, and promptly shoots up from his seat, a manic smile wild on his face before he grabs the partially-ruined quiche from his head and just cannons it straight back at George’s shirt. Technoblade really wished that he could say that he wasn’t used to this, but that would be a lie. 

“My god, calm down, you idiots,” Dream laughs, and Techno sneaks a glance at the beaming ranger again, tracing the sunbeams dancing across his features, “Stop wasting food and sit the hell down.” 

“It’s all overdue ingredients anyways, I made sure of it, no food wastage in this shatterdome!” 

Sapnap lets out an indignant yell at the notion of having old spinach and cheese in his hair, and Dream only sighs, offering an apologetic smile to Technoblade as he ignores the two other drift partners fighting, embodiments of chaos. 

“Sorry for them, none of it got onto you, right?” 

He lifts his head up to reply, to offer a sardonic quip, but freezes when he feels Dream slide closer to him, and there’re light fingers flitting across his shoulder and arm, leaving behind a wake of starfire, hot and burning pleasantly into his skin like the touch of a gauzy midsummer breeze. He stares at the golden-haired boy, taken aback, eyes fixed on the furrow in Dream’s brows as he carefully inspects Techno’s shirt for any smatterings of food. Then, something clicks in his brain and ends the single, endless moment of white noise, a moment of clarity, and he’s suddenly aware of everything - the chatter from other rangers and cadets, the whirring of machines, the gentle presses of slender digits branding soft brimstone into him - before he zeroes in on Dream, and he can feel something in his heart bloom like a budding rose. 

“Thank god, you’re perfectly fine. Sorry, I’m going to go scold those idiots. I’ll see you in the Kwoon Combat Room later?” 

Techno doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he only nods, swallowing at the glittering beam he was sent, and forces himself to not think of how he already misses the heat of Dream’s touch already. 

He finishes off his breakfast quietly, and cleans up before he heads off in the direction of the training room.

\---

The drift is silence. Techno stands still as his suit is locked into the motion rig. Beside him, Dream is doing the same, and he forgets sometimes that the blonde male had been the best in the American shatterdome, and has slain thousands of Kaiju too. He sometimes doesn’t understand why they had been willing to send their best pilot all the way here just for him. 

_(“It’s because they know only the best can keep up with the best,” Dream whispered to him.)_

He looks over at his drift partner, only to realise that Dream had already been looking at him. 

“Hey,” he breathes. The honey-haired boy blinks at him, before chuckling. 

“Hey back,” he replies, voice wreathed with mirth, and something else, more saccharine and sweet. There’s a comfortable silence between the two as the workers around them finish the last of the securing, and then it’s just them in Striker Eureka. How they had managed to fix the metal mass, he did not know, but this time, they had added lime and fuschia highlights. 

For a moment, Technoblade thinks of the terrible screams and ringing concinnities that echoed in his ears _that_ day. He hears the ripping of metal, the crashing of waves, the shrieking of the wind, and the caterwauling of Kaiju. He hears the blood rushing through his head, hears his own pained screaming, and his guttural growls of rage. 

And then he looks to his left, and he thinks that he can do this.

He sees Dream gazing back at him with so much _trust_ in his eyes that he wants to swallow, and maybe sample the sweetness of peach that seemed to glisten on his lips. He thinks he hears Phil’s whisper in his ear for a jarring second, the ex-pilot’s warmth surrounding him in a comforting embrace and he straightens up as the whispers fade, _“Go conquer the world with him, Techno.”_

“Don’t chase the rabbit,” he tells Dream because he does not know what else to say, “You’re.. _._ you’re going to see Phil, and you’ll see that day. I’m sorry. But remember to not fixate on anything. They’re memories, they’re in the past.” 

His drift partner nods, and there’s an odd moment between them that Techno can’t quite comprehend the air of, before he reaches for the intercom. 

“Ready for initiation,” he says, and the PPDC’s J-Chief LOCCENT officer, Bad confirms his message. 

_“Calibration complete. Initiating neural handshake in 3. 2. 1. ”_

He falls. 

Dream falls with him. 

\---

He doesn’t know if he can do this or not. 

Technoblade watches, for the second time, as Phil’s body becomes broken, crimson-stained, and like a lifeless puppet as he sails through the air, cacophony of demonic screeching from the kaiju piercing through him and Techno gasps as he lurches inside the motion rig, stumbling to right himself. 

“Gipsy! Gipsy! You’re both out of alignment!” 

Technoblade heaves for air as he shakes his head vigorously. _It’s in the past. It’s just memories. You’re fine. You’re okay._ He forces back salty tears and pained whimpers, and inhales desperately. 

“I-” he chokes out, breathing heavily and pressures himself to shove his nightmares back, struggling to regain his composure, “I-I’m okay. Just let me control it.” 

“You’re stabilising, but Dream is way out!” 

He feels panic rising inside of him like churning waters of a tempest, the sun of his mind swallowed by a thick, wet fog that falls from the hills like smoke, spreading tendrils of heavy dampness into the crevices of his thoughts as he jerks to look at his co-pilot, olive eyes unblinking as he stood eerily still and watched something Techno was not able to see. 

“Techno, he’s beginning to chase the rabbit!” Bad’s frantic voice sounds over the intercoms and Techno swallows back a curse. 

“Dream,” he tried, “Dream, it’s me. It’s Techno. Don’t get caught up in the memories. Stay with me. Stay in the now. Don’t engage with the memory.” 

He sees the quickened breathing from the blonde-pilot, and he feels helpless, “Dream! Listen to me!” 

“Techno, you have to go after him!” 

He dives in without any hesitation, but this time, into his co-pilot’s world. 

Technoblade is hit with a wave of screaming as he opens his eyes, and he is promptly disoriented. There are people wailing, weeping, shouting, contributing to a terrible symphony of despair as they flee, and the ranger’s blood goes cold at the sight of the Kaiju hissing its victory at the end of the pier, disgusting eyes beady and cruel. It rises from the water, an ancient and horrific beast with no glory, only pure abhorrence to it as water cascades off its thick scales and the pink-haired pilot feels sick at the crimson pools of liquid that stained the concrete. 

He sees him, and he stills. There is broken glass, and then in that moment, he sees that there is a broken-like animal bleeding, half dead in a trap in the the fear on the blonde-haired child's face in front of him. Techno’s heart falls into his stomach, and he tries to reach out and tug him into an embrace, but his hand travels through the figure as if he was nothing but a wisp. And suddenly, in a terrifying moment of clarity - like waking up and realising that nothing will ever be the same again, that he realises that he won’t be able to bring Dream back. 

It doesn’t stop him from trying. 

“Dream,” he whispered, “Dream, come back to me. You are okay. This is just a memory, it can’t hurt you. You’re safe. Stay with me.” 

The little boy doesn’t hear him, green eyes spilling with salty tears as he stands frozen on the spot, and Technoblade feels like crying with him when he sees the Kaiju begin to prowl towards him. _No, please._

“Dream!” he shouts, “Dream! Wake up! Listen to me!” 

The young boy falls to the ground, crawling back and shaking so hard Techno just wants to hold him, run a hand through his hair and tell him that it’ll be okay. 

He cannot do any of that. He’s stuck on the sidelines, helpless, a spectator to his drift partner’s childhood horrors. He doesn’t know how to get through to him, doesn’t know how to get him to focus on Techno, doesn’t know how to make this horrible nightmare fade away. 

“Dream, please,” he begs, pleads, shaking his head, the desperate thoughts inside his head like a star on the brink of collapsing on itself. He does not want Dream to fall into the dark hole they will leave behind, but he does not know if he has the power to move the heavens for this boy. 

He feels the earth tremor and quake underneath his feet. The Kaiju’s claws crushed the cement underneath it as a hideous tongue flicked out, hissing in arrogance. The child in front of him lets out a choked sob, and Techno can only watch as he raises an arm in front of him, instincts telling young Dream to curl up, to protect himself and to defend himself as he brandishes a meagre stick, slashing it through the air, yet it was only a pathetic wooden sword, nothing but a child’s toy at best. Techno goes to move forwards, but the words he heard next from Striker Eureka’s system startles him and melds his feet to the ground as he froze mid-step, processing what it all meant within a split second before his blood ran cold.

_“Initiating I-19 Plasmacaster.”_

_Fuck-_

He’s reacting within the spark of a light. 

“Bad! Turn the fucking jaeger off! He’s activating the plasma cannon!” 

“Oh my god!” he hears the panic in the officer’s voice, and he thinks that it’s reflected in himself in the way that he desperately tries to shake Dream awake to no avail, the younger’s arm not budging from its raised position. 

“No no no no no, Dream, Dream-” 

_“Plasma cannons ready to launch in 10 seconds.”_

“ **BAD!** ” he yells, he cannot even release Dream from the motion rig, not unless he wanted to permanently damage the man and have him suffer irreversible neural scarring. 

_10\. 9. 8._

For the first time in his life, Technoblade does not know what to do. Even when he had been faced with a hopeless situation with Philza on that mission, he had known in his gut that he needed to finish the fight no matter what cost. He had known that even if he was to die, that he was to die with the monster, and he would do so without any regrets. 

_7\. 6. 5._

Now, however? He doesn’t have a clue. It’s like Dream is tumbling down a ravine, gravity and momentum spinning him like a ragdoll with nothing but soft flesh and star-kissed skin to protect his bird bones from the impact with the rocks, and Technoblade is stranded at the top of the cliff, powerless to do anything but watch the way he crumples like a broken puppet, long legs, slender waist, elegant figure a crimson-tarnished figure. 

_4\. 3. 2._

The whirring outside was audible even to Technoblade as he watched bright light fill the Shatterdome from his PONS, thousands of people dashing too late, far too late for the doors to evacuate.

_1_. 

_“Plasma ca-”_

The navy blue lights previously washing the cabin in a dark cerulean flickered off suddenly, and the whirring of machines around him stopped to make for a lull of time into stillness while Striker Eureka returned to her peaceful slumber. 

Technoblade feels relief wash over him in torrential waves, and shudders at the cold sweat he can feel on the back of his neck, mind filled with images of what could’ve been, the pandemonium that could’ve been incurred. He sees his co-pilot sway in the corner of his eyes, and does not hesitate to dart forwards and catch Dream as the younger ranger collapses to the ground like a bird with broken wings, struggling for air like a fish on the muddy banks of a river, desperate and greedy to live. He wrestles the PONS off of the blonde’s head, cradling Dream’s head and cupping his cheek while he whispers syllables of comfort, stroking the stardust on his cheekbones and runs a gloved hand through his matted burnished locks. He’s trembling, gripping onto Techno’s shoulders with glassy eyes, bruised and bloody and a little bit broken, breath jagged as a splintered branch. 

“It’s okay, Dream,” he whispers, and holds the shaking boy tightly, “It’s okay, I’m here. Breathe. you’re safe.” He lets his drift partner, his _friend_ cry on his shoulder while rocking them gently side to side, lets him spill crushed pearls and diamonds down his cheeks to paint a gilded, silvery path down the plane of his golden-dusted cheeks. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that for, but the younger eventually falls asleep, exhausted from crying and the emotional weight of reliving his worst nightmares. 

Techno carries him back to Dream’s room, and places him gently down on the bed, tugging soft blankets over him and brushing away the honeyed locks that fell into his face before he leaves. 

Outside the metal door that was as heavy as how his heart felt at that moment, Technoblade thinks that he wants to cry a little too. 

\---

A soft knocking on his door rouses him from his fitful slumber and Techno lets out a low groan before groggily rising, flicking the lamp beside his bed on, before he shuffles over to the entrance of his room to see who it was seeking him out at three in the morning. He's yawning, rubbing the back of his neck with a curtain of his long rose hair pooling over his shoulders when he swings the door open. 

Dream stands in front of him, pillow clutched under his arm and lime hoodie swallowing his figure and eyes still red from crying. All the previous drowsiness blanketing his mind with gentle murmurs immediately vanished as Techno eyed the way his drift partner shuffled nervously on the spot, looking at anywhere except for the pink-haired pilot. 

"You good?" is the only thing Techno can muster up at this hour, and he internally cringes at the rasp in his voice, husky and baritone from sleep. 

"I…I couldn't sleep. So i-i was w-wondering i-if i could, well…" Dream inhales, mustering up the courage to finish his question and finally looks at Technoblade, the dying galaxies in his eyes beckoning to be revived by the call of the the pink-haired pilot's cluster of stars , "So I was wondering if you wouldn't mind having me over. Just for tonight." 

He shouldn’t be allowed to. Shouldn’t be allowed to steal his breath away with gentle fingers and even gentler words like this, shouldn’t be able to make his heart thrum so fast, shouldn’t be able to let Techno open his mouth to speak before he even gets a chance to think of what to say. 

"Of course," he says, eyes soft and voice tender, "Come on in." 

Technoblade has come to realise Dream has the power to move people, with words or without. He doesn't use it to maneuver them like pawns, to toy with his prey, but instead he offers it in the form of a choice on a silver platter to them, enabling them to make their own decisions. It's subtle, delicate, and not the type of power that requires the heavy steel of a weapon to uphold it. It's bright and airy, all pride and righteousness and shameless beauty. It's in the way that Dream looks up right now at him, the harsh lights of the corridor sculpting his cheeks, breathing silver into his hair, and smoothing his long legs porcelain. His eyes flutter, like a butterfly's wings closing for the first time, and instead of a golden warrior or a striking viper, he looks like a boy caressed by moonbeams, by starshine, by rose blooms, hesitant and afraid, yet so incredibly gorgeous. 

He feels like he’s ignited. 

Techno shifts to the side to allow the blonde-haired boy to enter, and closes the door behind him. Dream stands awkwardly beside his bed while chewing on his lip, as if unsure whether or not he was genuinely allowed to share with the elder for the night. 

"It might be a bit of a tight fit, but get as comfortable as you can." 

He sees Dream breathe in deeply, before the younger climbs onto Techno's bed, placing down his pillow sliding and sliding under the blanket. 

"Thank you…" 

"Of course. Lights on or off?" 

"On, if you wouldn't mind." 

Techno does not touch the lamp, and crawls into bed too. He feels Dream tense beside him, and sees the way his peach lips part slightly, emerald eyes avoiding his ruby ones. There is uncertainty in his eyes, simmering underneath the surface of deep sage, sweltering and lurid yet full of reflected light like wells at night. He looks into them, and it feels like he’s on an island in the middle of the ocean, eroded by the riptide, sieged by salt and water and their own past. 

“Hey,” he breathes, and Dream’s eyes flicker to his lips for a split second to conduct Techno’s heartbeat into an out-of-sync orchestra, grating and abrasive in his ears, “It’s just me, alright?” 

“Yeah,” Dream whispers, soft voice filling the room, voice filling the dominant pilot’s chest like music inside a sound box. He thinks he can feel the younger begin to relax beside him, drinking in the mint, the pine, the first dew of spring and tang of wild berries from the sheets below him. Neither of them say anything, and Techno closes his eyes. He tries to not think about the tangled mess of starlight and thunder clouds that falls in the forms of daffodil locks across his drift partner’s face. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Dream says abruptly into the quiet atmosphere. Techno hums. 

“Didn’t mean to what? Chase the rabbit?” 

“That too. No, I was talking about how I activated the plasma cannons and nearly fucked the entire Shatterdome over. My previous Jaeger was different, I was trying to activate the blade instead but didn’t realise Striker Eureka’s controls switched the buttons around.” 

“You’re saying that you would’ve just sliced the entire place in half then instead of blowing it up?” 

Dream lets out a light chuckle at that, lips curling up into a small smile, and Techno’s heart propels itself to the sky, past the seven layers of atmosphere to the highest of cloud nine. He aches to hear it again. 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

They’re close and pressed together, Dream tucked into his side and his warmth seeping through the fabric of Techno’s shirt, and the skin, and the bone, reaching his marrow to set it on fire. His messy hair, soft, silky threads are spread on the pillow like a halo, burnished dijon and goldenrod, shining faintly from the warm washes of bronze that puddled in Techno’s room, trickling from his lamp. He thinks that he would like to keep this moment and cradle it in his hands, make it last just a little longer, like a dandelion shielded by his fingers against the first gush of wind. 

“It happened too last time,” Dream murmurs suddenly, and Techno turns on his side to face him.

“What?” 

“George was my previous drift partner,” Dream says, “Sapnap’s drift partner was Karl. Me and him, we drifted together. Except instead of it being just me losing control like today, we both chased the rabbit. Hard.” 

“Oh,” Techno says, and does not know how to feel or what to say. Dream’s shoulders quiver slightly as he lets out a shaky laugh, and he thinks that he can hear the younger’s voice growing thick with emotion. 

“You know what I saw. George saw his family die. We activated the N-16 particle charger on Saber Athena together, unanimously, and nearly blew the place to bits. Schlatt yelled at us and then complimented on how stupidly in tune we were with each other.” 

Techno thinks that there are fingers curling around his heart, squeezing it, and making it somewhat hard to breathe. There’s a slight bitterness at the back of his throat, which he swallows back down.

“Then…” he starts, and Dream gazes up at him, finally locking his chrome-flecked chartreuse irides on garnet eyes, “Then how are you here now?” 

“A mission went wrong,” the younger man says simply, “Karl got injured badly. Fell into a coma and all, still isn’t awake right now. Sapnap almost went mad, he was so furious and blood-thirsty with no drift partner to pilot a Jaeger with him so he couldn't take revenge on the monsters who had hurt Karl. We already knew previously from a test before that George and Sapnap were drift compatible. We were supposed to be deployed here together, us four, but Schlatt wanted me to help out with the new batch of cadets, so I did. And then he tells me that they thought I was fit to be your drift partner one day. It’s a bit difficult to resist the temptation that you could possibly be the co-pilot to your idol, you know?”

His breath hitches at those words, and his stomach lurches. 

“I’m your idol?” he questions hesitantly, voice curving up in pitch slightly towards the end of his question. He sees emerald eyes widen, before he sees blossoming red bloom high on the blonde’s star-dusted cheeks and it makes something inside of him fizzle and sparkle like strawberry champagne. And he thinks that he wants to know what it’d feel like, what it’d taste like to sample star shine on his lips. 

“Well y-yeah, y-you were practically l-looked up to by e-everyone...” 

Technoblade lets it all sink in, and there is a brief moment of rediscovery and realisation between them, of such illumination that space lost its vast dimensions and drew comfortably around them. And, Technoblade realises that of all of his limitless lists of uncertainties that continued to haunt his everyday living, that he was certain that Dream was indeed the most unapproachable star beyond his reach. He thinks that there are exploding galaxies condensed in this boy, there has to be, it’s the only explanation for why it feels like this, for how he shatters him so softly like this with gilded words and rose-budded cheeks. 

He wants to be reckless, and he wants to give in to the burning embers deep inside of his gut. 

But most importantly, he thinks that he wants to entrust a bit of himself to Dream too, like how the golden-haired boy had offered up something so deep, so integral to himself. He wants a mutual and equal relationship with this man, be it platonic, or perhaps the “something more” that he craved. 

He wants to have a home, and he also wants to be a home. 

“I think I still see him sometimes you know,” he says all of a sudden into the honey-toned air draping around them in smooth dips and folds. Dream doesn’t need to ask, to know who Techno is talking about. 

“I see him in the photos on my wall, and I see him in my memories,” he continues quietly, “But it’s more. I see him greeting me when I leave my room, I see him smile when he would ruffle Tommy’s hair in my head, and I see the confident grin that spreads across his face when I stand in the sparring room.” 

Dream reaches out and wraps his arms around Techno’s waist, pulling him closer to sweet honey and raspberries. Techno embraces him back, tucking his head into the crook of Dream’s shoulder, fingers tightening on the soft fabric of his drift partner’s hoodie. Dream doesn’t say anything, but cards a hand through his long, rose hair. 

“I think about how he loved caramel-filled chocolates, how he would sigh in defeat whenever Wilbur and Tommy began to scream at each other and wrestle around, how he would clap me on the shoulders after every mission we completed,” he continues, “And sometimes when it’s night and I’m feeling alone and that horrible, hollow ache is back in my chest, I sometimes still reach out to try and touch it, to try and feel that connection I had with him, that connection that I won’t ever be able to feel again because he’s gone.”

He thinks that there’s a dampness trickling down his cheeks, and he wants to laugh. 

When was the last time he had cried? 

Had he ever been held so closely like this before? 

Had he ever unlocked the iron gates barring his inner thoughts and haunting memories from being exposed to the world, like he had done now? 

Techno doesn’t remember. 

“Phil was an incredible man,” Dream eventually murmurs after a few moments of silence, “And he was a gift. He was lucky to be your drift partner, and you were lucky to be his.” 

Techno’s eyes burn, and he mumbles a muffled “yeah.” Dream is rubbing circles on his back, scratching at his scalp and hums lightly. Techno feels like he has been shattered brilliantly like a china vase, and Dream had patiently picked up the jagged pieces to glue them back together, not caring if crimson liquid the colour of divine roses would fall in the attempt. 

“I’m here,” he hears the words whispered into his hair, “Things will get better, and you’ll be okay. I’m here with you.” 

And for the first time, he believes those words. 

He thinks that he’ll be okay. 

Techno’s eyes flutter, and everything falls out of focus, gravity becoming too heavy to withstand. 

He hasn’t felt this safe in a long time. 

\---

Something changes between the two. 

It’s in the way that a carnation blossoms on the smooth skin of Dream’s face whenever Techno leans close to him to pass him something or whisper an observation. 

It’s in the way that Techno feels breathless when he looks up at the sparkling depths of pine-coloured eyes while sprawled on the floor, Dream pointing the end of the staff at his chin triumphantly, light illuminating him to make a god out of a mortal. 

It’s in the way that Dream seems to unconsciously press close to him, to lean into him, to have their arms touching and fingers brushing when they walk together. 

And it’s in the way that the world shakes, shines and the nights bear a golden edge to them when their legs tangle together while they sleep, breathing deep and synchronised, and it’s like he’s living the twilights through the fizzing spume of sweet ale, through the swirl of honey whiskey. 

He sees Dream in his dreams, sometimes. 

\---

“It’s two level 4 kaijus off the coast of Milan this time,” Wilbur tells them, voice filled with trepidation as Technoblade, Dream, Sapnap and George hurry through the Shatterdome and towards their Jaegers, suits glinting slate and chrome under the dim, flickering lights. He hears Sapnap hiss in response to the information relayed to them, and he wants to agree. 

Level three kaijus and above were not easy to deal with, usually requiring two Jaegers per hideous monster, but they did not have the pilots, nor the Jaegers for that. Tommy and Tubbo were still too young, not even out of training yet, and their other rangers have already been sent out on other missions, not able to get back. To take on a level four kaiju solo was dangerous, risky, and in the hands of any other lesser capable pilots, would surely be a suicide mission. 

But they didn’t have a choice. It was their lives, or the lives of millions. 

They come to an intersection. George and Sapnap head right, while Techno, Dream and Wilbur turn left. Beside him, the lines on Wilbur’s face are harsh, lips pursed and jaw chiselled under harsh industrial lights. His shoulders are tense, and he walks as if he’s marching into war, armed with only a gun and a knapsack, waving his country’s bloodied and torn flag in the air. He looks resolute, but more than anything else, he looks pained. There is regret in the knuckles that are white from how hard the general is clenching his fists, pain in the droplets of scarlet that bead on his bitten lips, and there is reluctance in the way he refuses to meet Techno’s gaze, as if he was afraid that he would say something foolish and beg for Techno to not go. 

“Wilbur,” he says. Their footsteps echo on the staircase they ascend. The brunette does not speak. 

“Wilbur,” he tries again, “I will come back.” 

Technoblade fails to add if he will come back alive or not. The elder seems to have realised this too, and it is what finally has weary coffee irides connecting with the rubies of the pink-haired ranger. 

“Alive, Techno,” Wilbur replies, words heavy on his tongue, “Come back alive, Technoblade. Promise me.” 

They both know that he cannot make such promises. There are no promises on the battlefields, no guarantees to what will happen, no certification on the events that will transpire. 

“I promise,” Techno says anyways, and he watches Wilbur’s figure sag. Dream has fallen a step behind them, giving them the space that they need. They enter the elevator, and the crimson-eyed pilot watches the ground fall away from their feet as they shoot upwards, up to the motion rig of Striker Eureka. Nothing else is said between them, but Dream takes his hand and squeezes. Techno squeezes back. 

It feels awfully sombre, the way they walk towards the control cabin. Techno doesn’t know if he is walking towards his own funeral right now, doesn’t know if he’ll walk out from the other side of the war he’s stepping towards right now. They don’t say anything when they arrive. 

“I’ll go first,” Dream says quietly, dipping his head briefly in Wilbur’s direction and sends Techno a glance before he enters the Jaeger, suit and armour clinking slightly. 

There is still silence between them, and he thinks that he knows what Wilbur is feeling right now. If they are...If they are to fail the mission, then Wilbur would not only have lost yet another family member, but he also would’ve been the one yet again to push them right to Death’s door. And Techno finally realises just how difficult, how emotionally taxing and morally conflicting that being a general was. He does not envy the other man at all. 

The chocolate-haired male beside him moves suddenly, yanking Techno towards him into a tight embrace, and he thinks that he can feel Wilbur shake slightly. 

“Remember your promise, Technoblade,” the older tells him fiercely, fingers digging into the grooves between the metal plates on his suit, “You promised me to come back alive, and if you fucking don’t then I will never forgive you.” 

_“You’ll never forgive yourself either,”_ Techno thinks, and he nods against the rough fabric of Wilbur’s hazel trench coat. 

“This isn’t a goodbye. This is a ‘I’ll see your ugly face again soon’. This is an order, Technoblade. I order you to stay safe, and to come back in one piece, and breathing. You know the punishment for not following orders.”

“Okay,” he replies simply. Wilbur grips onto him for one more second, before he shoves himself away. Techno pretends to not see the way the general swipes at his eyes roughly with his arm, and swallows thickly. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he turns around to make towards Striker Eureka. 

“TECHNO!” There’s a loud yelling behind them, footsteps echoing and causing a racket on the iron staircase as quick footsteps approach. He looks back over his shoulder, and sees Tommy standing there, gripping onto the metal railing, panting and breathless, but there are also droplets of salty tears welling up in his eyes. Techno’s taken aback - he doesn’t remember the last time he has seen Tommy cry. The young boy’s mouth opens and closes, mind whirring into overdrive as he desperately tries to think of what to say, the memories of a similar goodbye from a stinging past rising within him, a goodbye that only bore him news of death’s mercilessness, empty loss and agonising grief. He is usually running his mouth off, but he is now speechless while watching someone he loves step towards a war he might not return from. 

“Tommy,” Technoblade says as he takes in the sight of the boy, and he turns to walk slowly towards the young blonde who’s blue eyes were filled with a desperation that beseeched Techno to not leave them. His armour clinks against the floor as the pink-haired pilot stops in front of the cadet, and reaches out a hand to ruffle his sandy locks fondly. Tommy’s eyes widen, and his head snaps up. 

“Behave while I’m gone, kid,” Techno says while cracking a teasing smile because the younger is unable to speak, “And try not to stab too much shit. Phil would have my head if he finds out that I was the one who gave you the knife which you used to cut a penis out of the pancake he made.” He doesn’t want to leave with a frown on his face, nor pain on their faces.

And if he isn’t to come back, he wants to be remembered with a lazy smirk playing upon his lips, red eyes alive with embers and long fuschia hair tied up into a ponytail so as to not get in his way. 

There’s a choked laugh that tears itself from Tommy’s throat at Technoblade’s words, and the young cadet scrubs at his eyes with the back of his uniform’s sleeve. “Shut up. I am not a kid, I am a big man,” he protests, voice wobbly but defiant and crystal cobalt eyes burning when he looks back at Techno, and suddenly it feels as if nothing, yet simultaneously everything has changed. For once, the elder does not feel an overwhelming sense of mourning crash over him like a tsunami when he says Phil’s name. It rolls off his tongue, instead, lightly and warm like honey and butter, gentle like Phil’s claps on his back whenever they complete a mission. 

He thinks that Phil would be proud of him.

Technoblade doesn’t realise how long it has been since he has actually properly spoken to Wilbur or Tommy. 

He misses this though, he thinks. But now is no time to be feeling such a way. 

“I’ve got to go. The Kaiju hasn’t attacked the coast yet, but it’s fast approaching.” 

The light-hearted air from only seconds before immediately dampens at Techno’s words, but this time it does not become a bitter and unforgiving snowstorm where they are alone in a blizzard, eyes blind and voices lost. Instead, it reminds Techno of spring showers where the air is fresh and heavy with unspilled rain and fragrant with the smell of new grass and wet hearth. There is hope in the way dew drops slide from petals of budding blossoms, and there is a comfort in the petrichor lingering in the air, thick enough to almost taste. 

“Stay safe, big man,” Tommy finally says, pride, confidence and trust burning brilliantly in his voice as he looks at Techno, azure crystals igniting to become blazing blue fire, “Kick those Kaiju asses.” 

They’re the same words from another time when there were four of them standing, not three. 

He thinks that there are still four of them though. Phil would always be here with them. 

“And this time, bring the green bastard back with you too. You two are awfully disgusting together.” 

He sees a smile quirk up on Wilbur’s lips, and Techno chuckles, shaking his head slowly. He pats Tommy on the head once more before he pulls away. “I intend to.” There’s a final moment between them, where he looks at them, and they look at him, and Techno thinks that he can almost see the figure of Phil standing with them, grinning. 

Then, he spins on his heel and promptly strides towards the control cabin. 

“Later, nerds!” 

“Remember your promise, Techno!” 

“I’ll start stabbing shit if you don’t come back!” 

He throws a two-fingered salute at them, but does not turn back as the entrance seals up behind him. He doesn’t think he can resist the urge to not leave if he sees their misty eyes. Dream looks over at him from where he is already strapped into the motion rig, green eyes soft and full of a tenderness that has Techno aching to cradle him in his arms. 

A comfortable silence envelopes them as Techno steps over to the right of the Jaeger, locking in his spinal clamp and secures himself methodically. This would be the first time in almost 9 months since Techno last piloted a Jaeger, last fought a Kaiju, and he should be nervous, but when Dream looks at him as if he was an immortal deity, god of blood and glory, he feels as if there is an ancient power coursing through his blood that leaves him feeling as if there is electricity crackling within him, mixing with a smouldering inferno. When Dream looks at him like that, Techno thinks that he’s undefeatable, but even more, when Dream stands beside him, he feels invincible. 

“When we come back,” he says, “I want to tell you something.”

There is something summery and gauzy in the way Dream regards him with sage irides, that tells him that the younger has something to say to him too. 

“Let’s do this.” Dream says, and Techno smiles at him. 

“I’ll see you in the Drift,” he replies. Nothing else needs to be said. 

_“Initiation of neural handshake in 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.”_

They fall, but this time, together. 

\---

The fight is terrible. 

Techno snarls as he draws back his arm to activate the 4.211 “Brass Knuckles” of Striker Eureka, yelling out with Dream as they rammed the brass-steel compound of the Jaeger’s fist into the Kaiju, impact sending shudders and jolts up the length of their arms. The monster lets out a furious shriek, ramming its body against the mobile weapon, and the dominant pilot lets out a grunt as he braced against the impact, gritting his teeth before he retaliates with the heavenly rage of a god, lusting for blood and destruction. 

“Activate Sting Blades!” he orders, Dream’s voice echoing with his as the Assault Mount 3.25 retractable swords swung out, burning an icy blue in luminescence as they slice at the Kaiju’s side, the carbon nanotubes channeling unbearable thermal energy to cauterise the wound and prevent it from healing as Kaiju blue flies through the air, the horrible screaming of the creature ringing in his ears. 

He thinks that Dream sounds a bit breathless beside him, but when he spares the slightest of glances in his direction, there is nothing but a bonfire of will, determination and stubbornness ablaze in his eyes. They both knew that this fight would not be easy, and Techno thinks that had his drift partner been any less capable, that they would’ve died already. Dream has the obstinacy of one who’s willing to throw themselves into the wind without a second thought to launch himself into a war with the sky gods themselves, yet did not fear the possibility of failure - in his mind, a situation where he falls from the heavens does not exist. 

And Techno would make sure that it never will. 

“We need to create distance! The missiles need 30 seconds to activate!” 

Dream pants, and Technoblade does not need to ask what he is doing when he sees the younger reach out to initiate the Plasmacaster, fingers sure this time at the weapon of choice unlike their last drift attempt. 

Techno covers for his exposed left side by commanding the replacement of the sting blades into the GD6 chain swords instead, transforming the alloy into a cruel whip that cracks through the air with a menacing hiss, snaking around the the thick neck of the Kaiju to pull and dig its sharp ridges into the hide. The dominant pilot feels a growl tear from his throat, rumbling and heavy with the wrath of a typhoon, merciless with its outrage and leaving behind entrancingly horrific ruin in its wake. He yanks, muscles burning at the strain, tugging the Kaiju closer towards him as it wails in its frenzy, beady eyes blinking rapidly with spite as it grabs onto the right side of the Jaeger and Techno can see it get closer, snapping jaws opening to clamp down on-

“Now, Dream!” he shouts, and retracts the whip, a grunt ripped from his lips as he feels the Kaiju ram into the right side of Striker Eureka, the impact feeling as if it was bruising his ribs. A cerulean glare flashes with the brilliance of a thousand supernovas, and the plasma cannon booms right into the Kaiju’s chest with a transient yet glorious luminosity. He laughs while Striker Eureka is tossed back by the raging and wounded monster, having achieved his goal exactly, and even the blood trickling down his forehead and the pain in his shoulders isn’t enough to stop the satisfaction of hearing how the Kaiju wailed, and the monster’s tail thuds against the middle of the Jaeger to throw them through the air - according to plan. 

They land with a thunderous crash in deep waters, air knocked out of their lungs as the water rises to become an ephemeral tempest in its force as water cascades back down from the mighty splash it had risen into, droplets of liquid salt hungry to experience the heavens above. Techno expected this, but it does not nullify the ache in his side, in his ribs. Dream would not be faring much better than the elder, but they do not have the time, nor the luxury to worry about their afflictions. 

“Initiate Anti-Kaiju Missile!” They both command, voices overlapping and intertwining to become the unbreakable obsidian that formed when rushing waters and molten lava met, the result of two liquids of a divine ferocity that was the genesis and finale to the universe. Together, they force themselves to stand up, light spilling from Striker Eureka’s metal stomach as the six-barreled WMB2x90 Anti-Kaiju Missile chest launcher whirs sharply and deafeningly loud, building enough pressure and tension like a rubber band that defined the tides of their push and pull, anticipating for the magnificent moment when it would snap. 

Through the 90ER11 amber platinum visor of Striker Eureka, they see the Kaiju flounder on the four photochromic displays, the angry waters around it chopping, churning, and speckled with the scintilla of its blood. 

“We need to get closer,” Techno says, “I’ll ram it, and you turn to blast the bastard in the face.” 

“No,” comes Dream’s voice, slightly quiet from exhaustion, yet firm and unrelenting in his power, his power to make Techno listen and worship the ethereal deity next to him, the god of victory, “We do this together. We activate the rear jets, we charge that fucker. I stab shit, and you blow it the fuck up. Stop trying to do everything by yourself and take the brunt of the attacks so I don’t need to. We’re drift partners, Techno.”

The blond turns to look at him, and it’s the look of a tiger when you point your arrow at them, daring you to shoot. There is pertinacity, lightning, and gold alight in his eyes, and he’s illuminated by the four planes of situational awareness around them in the control cabin of their Jaeger. It’s like the god of war and glory pointed his heavenly fingers at the blonde-haired boy and said, he is worthy. 

And Technoblade...Technoblade is a believer. And as he believes, as he tracks the way his drift partner’s eyes burn and storm, the determined line his peach lips are pressed into, something ancient and primeval within him ignites. 

“Okay” he says, “Let’s kick its ass.” 

“Activate T-16 Angel wings,” they chorus together, and there’s a steady thrum that grows into a roar at the back of the Jaeger, metal planes unfolding to become sleek wings as the jets kick in to propel them into the air, bursting across the waters of the Ligurian Sea like a hawk, elegant and hungry and unforgiving. 

You can’t punish a hawk, and you can’t get a hawk to submit. You don’t close him in a cage to show him who’s stronger, you close him in a cage to make him hungrier for blood, to make his wings flap mightier when he bursts free like a phoenix from the ashes. 

And more than anything else, you do not cross two gods: one with long, rose locks that whipped around his face when his fingers drip with the blood of his enemies, ruby eyes blown wide with exhilaration while the other bears lightning and summer downpour in his golden hair, grasslands in green eyes catching fire from unbearable heat to wipe out those who tested nature’s patience. 

The dual GD6 Chain swords swing out as thunder rips from their lips, cracking, rumbling, and powerful. Dream grits his teeth as they shove the blades into the Kaiju’s shoulders to lock it into place, Nuclear Vortex Turbine firing a heat weapon that punctures through the beast’s flank completely as it roars and thrashes to throw them off. They let out a yell as they nearly get wrenched to the side by the monster’s tossing, yet wrenches their muscles to hang on, waiting for the sentence from the system that would wash their bodies over with relief, that would finally snap the rubber band. 

It comes. 

_“Anti-Kaiju Missile chest launcher ready for initiation.”_

“Initiate!” he bellows, and they yank out Striker Eureka’s blades right as eighteen individual K-Stunner warheads whistled through the air, and explodes at point blank range against the Kaiju. 

They are thrown back once again from the force of the explosions, but even if they are winded upon impact, air becoming like treacle, viscous and dripping far too slowly into their lungs, even if he finally begins to feel the throbbing pain in his shoulders and ache in his shoulders, he laughs. 

They’ve won. 

Techno will be returning from war, and Dream will be by his side.

\---

The room is lined in darkness and soft whispers and the world has the slippery, misty quality of reveries and drunken nights. They’re tangled together on Techno’s bed again, Dream’s fingers gently sifting through his pink hair while the arm the elder pilot had around the younger's waist tightened.

There’s a tender smile playing upon the flaxen-haired boy’s lips, its spring bringing lively green shrubbery and blossoming fields with it, his voice, summer; bright seaside and refreshing blue in his quiet hums. They painted Techno’s cloudy heart in a sun-drenched gold, and he thinks that he would not hesitate to go to war with the god of winter if he dared to take this heart-searing heat away from him. 

“Hey,” he whispers into the saccharine air, golden and still. Dream doesn’t say anything, but he looks at him with his eyes; eyes that Techno has gazed into so many times, calling for him, inviting, allowing him to come closer to take a deeper peek and wider panorama, of the secrets that his drift partner’s scintillating star clusters harbour. They hail in the emerald brilliance, foreign language of celestials, alluring codes extraterrestrial, and he can’t help but think that he wants to decipher those ciphers to figure Dream inside out. 

“I love you,” he murmurs. He loves him, with the sureness of the rising sun and the fatality of its dawn. He loves him with the violence of majestic sunsets that bruise purple and orange, and loves him with the mellowness of sunrises that leave a pearly-eyed trail in their wake. He loves him with the devotion of sunflowers that twist toward the midday sun, and he loves him as naturally as blooming red dahlias dark like wine and as alive as plump little robins chirping at the first coming of spring. 

Dream stays silent, but he tilts his head back, and his lips brush against Techno’s jaw in a way that makes sparkles dance under his skin, tumbling down his chest, ricocheting from his stomach to his gut, and Techno thinks that he must be made of paper inside, because that’s all it takes, Dream’s skin against his in a way that is supposed to be soft but creates more sparkles than a clash, to set him on fire. 

The fuschia-haired man gently unwinds one of Dream’s arm from around his shoulders, and brings it up to press his lips to the inside of his wrist instead, where the skin is smooth and thin like pink paper, pulled taut over the vein, where every kiss is like a prayer whispered to Dream’s pulse. He hears the younger’s breath hitch, feels the way he melts into Techno’s touches and thinks that he can almost hear the way his heart flutters. 

“I love you,” he repeats again, before he’s gently cupping the starry-haired boy’s gold-dusted cheeks, and he leans in. 

And then there’s a moment of silence, like the entire universe is standing at the edge of a crevice, ready to capsize into the darkness or become light enough to fly, where silence condenses the world into the way Dream blossoms so prettily for him like a water lily. 

He moves them, so that the younger is underneath him, arms draped around his broad shoulders as he brackets the emerald-eyed boy who is warm and beautiful beneath Techno’s figure, like glass just out of the furnace, shiny, delicate and lethal right before it turns into crystal. The pink-haired ranger rests his forehead gently against Dream’s, the both of them breathing softly

And Dream finally speaks, letting honey drip from sugared lips in his adoration, “I love you too,” and he thinks that he can taste the sweetness of candy floss and the saltiness that pervades the air close to the sea in his syllables. 

Techno thinks that he isn’t afraid to fall if it is this man of whom he is to fall with.

He thinks he hears the whisper again. 

_“Go conquer the world with him, Techno.”_

\---

Technoblade once fell, alone. 

But now, he has Dream to rise with him again by his side. 

In the Drift. In the universe. 

Together. 

**Author's Note:**

> haha over-fixating on a super specific au that nobody really asked for or cares about go brrr
> 
> But if you have gotten to this point now, then thank u for reading this emotional mess of a fic!! I genuinely have never written something as long as this before, so if the pacing is off or the transitions are weird, please bear with me, and I’ll work harder to improve and bring better works to the dnb table in the future c: 
> 
> Action scenes are so hard to write g a h idk if i pulled them off decently or not but hey more improvement lol
> 
> The part where dream and techno open up to each other (after dream almost cannons the entire shatterdome) was the easiest, but most difficult thing to write for me. Easiest in the sense that I experienced things similar to how Techno was feeling and so I knew the sensation, but difficult in the sense that I struggled to get everything out and convey it properly. Not too long ago, someone important to me passed away, and when techno says “I see him in the photos on my wall, and I see him in my memories,” it was just. Yeah. His fight with Wilbur, the things he tells Dream, him feeling like he wants to cry after he sees Dream break down, were really just me projecting lmao and it was personally very difficult to get it out in writing. I’m not sure how well i did it this time, but i will try to get better!
> 
> It takes a long time to heal from loss, and I want people to know that it’s okay to take the time to do so. 
> 
> Anyways!! I don’t want to end on a sad note, so thank you all for reading and for all the support that I have received so far c: This one really was a challenge for me to write out, working out a pace and smoothing transitions was difficult considering i don’t have experience in writing such long works, and there were also so many emotions that I wanted to convey, and I hope to improve so that I can better depict them in the future!!
> 
> Take care of yourselves, and have a good day/night <3


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